


Whichever You Decide...

by bossxtweed



Category: Batman (1966), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Other, Thoschei as 1960's BatCat, it'll be campy but also with a darker tilt than the 60's tv series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25656184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossxtweed/pseuds/bossxtweed
Summary: Two decades ago, a young hero burst onto the scene, donning tights and a mask and proclaiming himself to be ‘the Doctor’---a purveyor of good will on the crime-torn streets of London (though it baffled those who heard him speak, for they could detect undertones of a Glaswegian accent in his voice, and why should someone Scottish be so invested in the affairs of a place such as London?). Seven years into his career of heroics, a young girl began to accompany him and when asked by the press, he introduced her as ‘the Student,’ for she was young and training, perhaps, to one day assume his title.Several enemies arose over the years, some harmless, others threatening world domination. One such enemy, known only to the public as ‘the Mistress,’ began to cause a stir by getting close with the wives of wealthy men who would soon find themselves deceased while their wives walked away, free from the implications of scandal.Inspired by the "will they, won't they?" nature of the 1960's Batman/Catwoman romance, this sets the Doctor as a Batman-like figure with the Mistress as his Catwoman-like counterpart.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Twelfth Doctor/Missy
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Whichever You Decide...

Two decades ago, a young hero burst onto the scene, donning tights and a mask and proclaiming himself to be ‘the Doctor’---a purveyor of good will on the crime-torn streets of London (though it baffled those who heard him speak, for they could detect undertones of a Glaswegian accent in his voice, and why should someone _Scottish_ be so invested in the affairs of a place such as _London?)._ Seven years into his career of heroics, a young girl began to accompany him and when asked by the press, he introduced her as ‘the Student,’ for she was young and training, perhaps, to one day assume his title.

Several enemies arose over the years, some harmless, others threatening world domination. One such enemy, known only to the public as ‘the Mistress,’ began to cause a stir by getting close with the wives of wealthy men who would soon find themselves deceased while their wives walked away, free from the implications of scandal. 

Local authorities were at a loss as to how to capture her while reporters went mad trying to track down any information they could find regarding this Mistress, who many agreed was a white brunette, though no consensus could be reached on her eye color and height. One woman described her eyes as heterochromatic; another claimed they were dark and ominous; and yet another referred to them as an unnatural shade, either yellow or orange, depending on the light; combined with inconsistencies about her height, there existed little to go on in order to track her down.

The Doctor was the only one to ever get close enough.

Acting on rumors of a museum break-in, the Doctor and his Student stayed past closing, although the museum’s owner, one River Song, insisted on staying as well to oversee and ensure none of her acquisitions got damaged in the fight. And there _would_ be a fight, for the Mistress had assistants of her own who were trained to kill.

Standing behind a pair of statues, the Doctor and the Student waited with bated breath for the Mistress to arrive. Hours passed in which the only noise they heard was the occasional clatter of Dr. Song’s heels against the tile and at one point, the Student’s (Susan’s) legs went numb and so she shifted her weight, hitting the statue as she did so.

The Doctor turned to glare at her, but Susan’s attention rested now on a trio of persons: two men, holding cloth sacks, dressed in all black, and donning domino masks, and a woman, wearing a sleek purple dress and matching glasses. Murder lay in the Mistress’ gaze as she directed her men where to go. 

Susan turned towards the Doctor and raised a brow. With _other_ villains they would have jumped out from their hiding places by now, but the Doctor raised an index finger to his lips. Few had seen the Mistress in action and now they had a chance to observe her, start to learn her patterns, and _maybe,_ if they were able to get close enough, they could determine if she had any distinctive features that would help in identifying her. 

Click, clack. 

Three heads turned as Dr. Song approached with a smile, her arms stretched outwards in greeting. “If you wanted a private tour,” her tone was teasing, probing, and she placed one hand on the Mistress’ arm, “I would have been _more_ than happy to help, sweetie. All you had to do was _ask.”_

Caught off guard, the Mistress managed a nervous smile. “Right. Well, I just thought, since---since your husband passed,” she met Dr. Song’s gaze and said, “you might have taken time off from your work?”

“Can’t do that. Working is a way to distract myself from my grief, and besides, there are rumours of a _murderer_ roaming the streets, getting close to the wives of wealthy men only for the husbands to turn up _dead_ within a fortnight…”

The Mistress reached into her pocket, pulled out a tube of lipstick, and applied a thick layer before leaning forward to kiss River’s lips.

“Why, Missy!” she exclaimed. “In front of your henchmen and everything? I’m fla--” she collapsed backwards onto the hard floor and the Mistress merely stepped over her before walking away, her own heels clacking against the tile.

“Can we act _now?_ ” Susan demanded in a furious whisper. “She’s hurt Dr. Song, and---”

The Doctor was already gone, slinking down the corridor after the Mistress, and Susan sighed before running over to check on the fallen woman.

“My sweet, sweet henchmen,” the Mistress purred, running a hand down one of their backs. “It’s good I got so close with the museum’s owner, isn’t it? And did you _see_ how trusting she was? Hah.”

She _did_ adore River, with her wild blonde curls and sly smiles, and given the chance she would _gladly_ have stayed with her, only the press had taken to wondering about her moral character and (more irritatingly so) the state of her mental health, as if _that_ were the reason she hurt others and **_not_ ** that she took a thrill in comforting women with terrible husbands. The last one had held some royal title or other, something connecting him to Scotland, and he had never _once_ shown interest in his wife’s work.

They found him in his bathtub surrounded by opened and half-empty pill bottles and deemed it a suicide, after which Dr. Song promptly had him cremated. She dumped his ashes in the Thames and went back to doing what she loved: working at the museum and returning stolen artifacts to their rightful owners.

“Take as _much_ as you can fit into those bags---I _know_ how much insurance she has on everything, and she’ll be getting a pretty penny with which to replace every---oh!” she startled as one of her henchmen crashed to the ground.

“It’s over, Mistress,” the Doctor’s voice boomed from behind her. “Surrender now and I’ll see what can be done to rehabilitate you---you’re **_better_ ** than _this,”_ he gestured towards her fallen henchman, whose bag lay empty on the ground. “Let me _help_ you…”

She shook her head. “No, Doctor. _This_ is who I am, and I **_like_ **being me. Tremas, take care of him for me, would you?”

Reluctantly, her henchman set his bag down and rushed at the Doctor, who ducked out of the way and swung round to knock the man down, sending him crashing against a pillar. No blood. That was good, wasn’t it? Titles can only mean so much and several years had passed since the Doctor even _opened_ one of his medical textbooks, let alone _read_ them. 

_“I’ll_ have to pay for that, y’know,” the Mistress sighed. “They _refuse_ to apply for insurance because that would mean people have their _names,_ even though I’ve _offered_ to supply it for them…”

“Doctor!” a young voice cut in. “Dr. Song is still out cold, and---”

The Mistress pushed past Susan and hastened down the corridor, whooping all the while and only stopping for a brief moment to kick off her heels.

“What do we _do,_ Doctor?” Susan asked. “These men--”

“Find a phone and contact the authorities,” the Doctor replied flatly. “I’m going after her.”

“Gran---”

He was gone before she could finish her word. Left alone with the two men, she first checked to make sure they were breathing (for what good would _killing_ them do?) before walking back over to Dr. Song, who doubtlessly had her phone on her. Carrying phones themselves was simply too risky; someone might try to trace their location, or they might leave their phones unmuted, and then their secret identities would be blown.

The Mistress stopped and marvelled at an ornately jeweled bracelet on display in a small glass case. “ _That_ I would wear often...shame. I should’ve asked how she opens these,” she frowned.

The Doctor crept up behind her and she whirled around to face him, standing with his arms crossed as he looked down at her.

“Earlier, River called you ‘Missy.’ Is that a short form of your _real_ name, or just a shortening of the _title?”_ he spat.

She smirked at him, utterly unphased by the question. “Well, Doctor, that _depends._ ‘Mistress’ is what the press calls me, but those I get close with---and _only_ those that I get close with---are allowed to call me ‘Missy.’ It gets odd looks, you know, walking around and introducing myself by the full thing.” She fluttered her lashes and took a step closer, stretched up on her tiptoes, and puckered her lips, making to kiss him.

Pulling back, he tutted and chided, “uh uh, _Missy._ I **_know_ ** you used somniferous lipstick to knock River out, and you’re _not_ doing the same to me.”

She pouted. “Oh, don’t be like that! I’m just trying to have _fun---”_

He quirked a brow. “That’s _not_ what **_I’d_ **call it.”

They stared at one another for a moment, their hearts thudding in their ears.

“Doctor!” Susan cried, running around the corner. “I made the call but Dr. Song is still unconscious---oh!” she crashed to the floor as the Mistress again pushed past her.

Without missing a beat, the Doctor ran after her, a stitch growing in his side, but he pushed through the pain and launched himself at the Mistress, sending her crashing to the ground. Her glasses flew across the floor. She shifted to face him and he pinned her wrists down.

“I’ve _got_ you, Mistress,” the Doctor spat. “You’re going to go away for a _long time---_ and to think, you could have been a mere _burglar,_ if you’d felt so inclined.”

She squirmed, glaring at him furiously. “There’s no _fun_ in that, Doctor. And besides, I genuinely _help_ these poor women whose husbands are _vile_ and _deplorable---_ I help them to regain their lives while freeing them of all that _dead weight…”_

He tilted his head to one side, staring down at her curiously, and only _then_ did he connect the glasses with a lack of contacts. Blue! He gasped.

“Your eyes are _blue…”_ vividly so, the color of a cloudless sky on a cool day. “Now _that’s_ useful…”

“Shh!” she chided. “Not even my _henchmen_ know tha’!”

A smile crept onto the Doctor’s face. Oceans lay in her gaze, tumultuous by their very nature, her face the sharp, harsh shorelines, and he leaned down for a kiss, forgetting about her tainted lipstick as he shut his eyes. Before he could reach her, Susan’s voice rang out once more, now filled with what could only be called _disgust._

 _“Doctor!”_ the girl screamed. “The cops should be here any---” the Doctor turned towards her, holding up an index finger, and she fell silent under his gaze.

While he was thus distracted, the Mistress swung upwards with one knee, hitting him in the groin and throwing him away from herself, and as he lay doubled over in pain she made her escape, climbing out through a nearby window.

When asked to describe what had happened, the Doctor found himself unable to meet anyone’s gaze without a flush creeping onto his cheeks. Susan, fortunately, kept silent about what she had seen, and the Mistress’ henchmen were taken into custody, made to serve time without bail.

Back in their lair, the Doctor sat before his computer, updating the Mistress’ profile.

 _Name: ?  
_ _Alias(es): ‘the Mistress’/’Missy’_ _  
_ _Age: mid-20’s  
_ _Race: white  
_ Hair: dark brown  
 _Eyes:_ _?_ **_blue  
_** Height: ~5’3”

“I’ll _find_ you,” he whispered, staring intently at a blurry photo of the Mistress (pulled from a local newspaper, the image featured the Mistress with one of her first flings, a wealthy actress whose husband was an exploitative film producer). 

But tomorrow, Basil Smith would host a charity auction, and there remained details to finalize: some guests would drop out at the last minute, others would decide to go after declining the invitation, and he had yet to decide what to go with in terms of appetizers (not that he cared much either way). Sighing, he shut the computer down and left the lair.


End file.
